Mike Hanson Loses His Bliss
by PinkElephant5
Summary: "Life was so much simpler when Henry was just the slightly spooky, scarf-loving M.E. and Jo's unofficial partner slash will-they-won't-they friend. Now I know this massive, impossible secret– not that I ever asked, mind you, or remotely WANTED to know– and life is getting more complicated by the day." Hanson reveal fic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first fanfic I've ever posted in first person, and despite my usual Henry, Jo & Abe focus, it's from Hanson's POV. Go figure.**

 **Thanks to okevamae for the Hanson reveal fic prompt on Tumblr and the request for "more Henry & Hanson bro-bonding in general." Here's some Bros before Jos for you. ;)**

* * *

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my Great Aunt Doreen. _Ignorance is bliss, Mikey_ , she used to say, and I would roll my eyes when she wasn't looking, but now I get it. I totally get it.

Doreen's gravelly smoker's voice has been echoing through my mind ever since Sunday night, and it's getting pretty damn annoying. Partly because even the memory of that voice makes me need a throat lozenge. But mostly because of Henry Morgan.

Dr. Henry frickin' Morgan. Genius, oddball, and…immortal being? Apparently, yes.

Great.

Life was so much simpler when Henry was just the slightly spooky, scarf-loving M.E. and Jo's unofficial-partner-slash-will-they-won't-they friend. Now I know this massive, impossible secret– not that I ever asked, mind you, or remotely WANTED to know– and life is getting more complicated by the day.

Maybe that's the way to approach this problem: work through it one ridiculous day at a time. It's worth a shot, anyway.

* * *

SUNDAY

Until Sunday happened, I was starting to almost not mind working with Henry, which was major progress. I used to legitimately dread seeing him at a crime scene. Granted, the man gets results, but he's so...odd. Plus, if I'm being honest, I hate showing up at the morgue after wasting two hours of my life researching leads, only to have Henry discover the exact same information after five minutes of examining toenail fungus, or whatever he does. I've seen him pull the right answer out of thin air too often to think he's BS'ing, and I'm a fair guy, so I'll admit: the doc is a _bona fide_ genius. Still– it's annoying.

Sunday was one of those rare days when Henry and I were both on call and Jo wasn't; she was out of town. I sometimes wonder if the Lieutenant and the Chief M.E. get together and plan all our schedules based on Henry and Jo's odd-couple partnership– more specifically, their way-above-average solve rate. That's how it seems to play out, anyway: the Jo and Henry Show, starring Jo and Henry, with Mike Hanson as "That Other Guy."

Despite my third-wheel status, I don't really mind their pair-up, and neither does anyone else at the precinct. It means that the rest of us don't need to figure him out (a.k.a. deal with his weirdness) ourselves, but we still reap the benefits. That said, I have to admit that the guy has grown on me this year. I'm finally learning to translate Henryspeak into normal person language, and weirdness aside, he actually is a decent guy– if you like the charming, handsome British eccentric type. Which Jo obviously does.

On Sunday, everything went sideways– like Twilight Zone levels of sideways– and my delicate Henry Morgan balance was completely thrown over. Henry and I caught a homicide, and the evidence led us to a building in the warehouse district. Of course, it had to be your basic shady, abandoned part of the warehouse district, and I was dumb enough to enter the building with only Henry before backup arrived.

I shouldn't have been surprised when one of the suspects started shooting at us from the shadows. I _was_ pretty surprised when Henry threw himself in front of a bullet headed straight for my very bullet-sensitive chest.

I remember leaning over him and saying, "Keep talking, Doc! Don't you dare die!" All I could think was that Jo would kill me if I let Henry die. Or worse, she wouldn't kill me, because she'd be too deep in despair to avenge her partner. Either way, Henry was fading fast right in front of me, and I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it.

That's when the evening started shifting from tragic to unreal. There he was, bleeding out onto a dirty concrete floor, and Henry was pleading with me. He kept saying, "Don't tell Jo, please don't tell Jo," over and over again.

I wanted to honor a dying man's final wish, especially the man who just took a bullet for me, but I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. What was I not supposed to tell her? That her partner had just died? Pretty sure she would figure that out whether I told her or not. The doc hadn't confessed any deep, dark secrets or undying love, so I had nothing to not tell. Or so I thought.

Imagine my surprise when Henry's entire body disappeared in a flash of light. He stopped breathing, and it had barely registered with me that he was gone when all the sudden he was _gone_ gone, and I could only manage one thought:

 _What._

 _The hell._

The paramedics showed up a few minutes later because like an idiot, I had thought Henry might need them, and I had to invent some cockamamie story about an injured perp who miraculously recovered and escaped. What else was I supposed to say? _Yeah, Dr. Morgan was critically injured, but never mind. He got better and left! Where did he disappear to? Funny you should say 'disappear…'_

Yeah…no. I lied through my teeth. Which, as it turns out, is the #1 Thing I Do Now for Henry Morgan. But more on that later.

When I finally left the warehouse, I was debating whether I should check myself into the hospital for a brain scan, or just go home and throw back a stiff double– a double anything would do. That's when my phone rang. It was Henry.

"Detective Hanson." He sounded calm. That pissed me off for some reason, and I repeated my earlier thought, along with a few others. "Henry? What the hell?! If this is some kind of weird psychological experiment, I will kill you myself, and this time you will not be coming back."

He had the nerve to chuckle and say, "That _would_ be a surprise."

I blew up. "Don't laugh! This is not funny. And what _is_ this, anyway? What the HELL just happened?!" I may have been bordering on hysterical at that point, but can you blame me?

"I'm sorry." His voice was suddenly all calm and sober again. "I know that what you saw was… unexpected, and upsetting, but I can explain."

I took a deep breath and thought, _this oughta be good_.

* * *

 **TBC**

fyi, here is okevamae's prompt in full: _"I have been craving something where Hanson is the first to discover Henry's secret. In my head he reluctantly helps hide it from Jo, but he finds the whole thing really annoying. Not just the lying to Jo, but the kind of irritated discomfort of a straightforward and logical person forced to deal with a thing that has to be true even though makes no sense. The world needs more Henry & Hanson bro-bonding fic in general IMO."_


	2. Chapter 2

MONDAY

When my colleague and kind-of friend told me he was over 200 years old and never stayed dead, my first two thoughts were:

1\. Seriously? No way!

2\. Seriously…? No way.

It's all in the inflection. Number one shows surprise and incredulity with a touch of wonder. Number two is irritation and doubt with a hint of betrayal. See the difference?

When Henry called me Sunday night and insisted that he wasn't dead, I had no choice but to believe him. I mean, the whole thing was completely impossible, but I watched it happen, and dead men don't show up on caller ID as "Abe's Antiques." He asked if I could meet him at his place so he could explain things more in-depth, but I have a family to worry about. The boys were coming down with some kind of 24-hour bug and Karen got called into work, so I was on dad duty. Henry offered to join me at my place instead, but I didn't think I could handle two pukers and a not-dead medical examiner all at once. Our little man-to-zombie chat would have to wait.

Between my two patients and the warehouse scene playing on repeat in my brain, I didn't get much sleep that night. When I got to work in the morning, I thought about playing it cool and waiting for Henry to come talk to me, but basic curiosity won out. I headed down to the morgue, and there he was, finishing up an autopsy on a John Doe as if it shouldn't have been _him_ on that table.

He led me into his office, where I repeated my initial question yet again: _What the hell is going on?_ I half-expected him to tell me he had beamed up to his alien ship for restoration. If he had told me that, I think I would have believed him. Laugh if you want, but there aren't a lot of logical alternatives to what I saw.

Instead, he told me when he was born. He told me how he got shot the first time, and how ever since then he never ages or stays dead, but ends up skinny dipping in the East River instead.

I think I preferred my alien version.

There were multiple reasons why I didn't want to believe him. First of all, this is real life, and that "condition" of his is not a real life thing. It is a fantasy thing, or maybe a mythology thing, but not a co-worker thing.

I also didn't want to believe him because the more I thought back, the more lies I spotted– really obvious lies that I should have suspected, but at the time I just wrote them off and filed them under "Henry being Henry." I guess I need to refile them under "Mike being a chump." However, like it or not, I knew he was telling me the truth now.

Next came the really irritating part of his confession: the part where he said, "Detective, I have a request: please don't tell Jo."

My response was less than supportive. " _That's_ what you were talking about before? You two are practically dating and she doesn't know yet?"

He denied that middle part, of course, but at least he had the grace to look a little ashamed that he hasn't told her.

I asked who else knew, and he admitted that Abe was the only other person alive who did– at least, the only other friend. I asked if he usually only told his enemies, but no response.

He tried to explain away his choice to leave Jo in the dark– something about her being the first person he's wanted to tell in a long time, but he'd been waiting for the right moment. This only irritated me more, because he had obviously never intended to tell me at all. Mike Hanson plays 'That Other Guy' yet again. Well, sorry pal, but now you're stuck with me.

Of course, I'm stuck with him, too– Henry and his stupid sci-fi secret.

* * *

TUESDAY

So, our medical examiner never stays dead. Yeah, okay. Fine. I don't get it, but I've seen it in action, so I know it's true. I can even appreciate the irony for about 30 seconds out of the day. For the rest of those 24 hours, I'm trying to get on with my job and my family and life in general without tripping over Henry's secret and face planting in the middle of the precinct.

That's mostly a metaphor, but on Tuesday there was a literal near miss. It was bright and early when the call came in about a possible homicide, and I was heading out from the precinct to meet Jo at the scene. I rounded a corner on the way to the elevator when BOOM! I nearly collided with the Timeless One himself, lurking out of sight.

"What, you're stalking me now?" I asked him, but he just said, "May I have a private word, Detective?" He sounds so reasonable and civilized all the time, even when he's acting crazy. It makes me want to slap him a little.

I knew what this was about. I rolled my eyes and stepped into the elevator, and he followed. I decided to give him until the ride was over to have his "private word."

"Let me guess," I said flatly, "you don't want me to tell Jo." Neither of us had seen her since she got back into town the night before.

He got that look on his face, like he wanted to apologize, defend himself, and explain by way of his life story all at once. "I–"

I interrupted him. I didn't have time for this at the moment, especially considering how long his life story is. "Don't get your scarf in a twist, Doc. It's your secret, and I'll let you tell her your way."

He relaxed a little. "Thank you."

The elevator arrived at the parking level. As the doors slid open and I stepped out, I added, "A word of advice, though? Make 'your way' happen soon. Jo cares about you; don't mess that up. She's smart, so she'll find out sooner or later, and when she does she won't be happy that you told me instead of her– intentionally or not," I threw in, because I saw the objection rising up on his face, right before the elevator doors closed and hid him from view.

The guy really can't keep things from showing on his face. I swear, if his secret weren't so completely unguessable, every detective in the precinct would have guessed it three times over by now.

* * *

WEDNESDAY

I don't know how he does this. I honestly don't. Does immortality protect him from high blood pressure and ulcers? If so, good for him, but it's not helping me any.

Jo asked again on Wednesday what happened in the warehouse. NYPD had lucked out and caught Henry's shooter during a routine traffic stop, and Henry had lucked out because the guy hadn't stuck around after he fired, and it had been too dark to really see what happened anyway. Still, Jo could tell we were leaving something out. Make that, she could tell that HE was leaving something out: Dr. No Poker Face. Me? I'm a stone wall. But I don't like it. It's stressing me out.

His cagey attempt at "innocent" wasn't helping. He said some nonsense about hearing a noise and chasing a second suspect down the street, then getting lost. At that point he blatantly changed the subject to avoid more questions. Jo let it go, but the look she gave me promised that she would be following up later. When she did ask me, the best I could come up with was some half-assed story to explain why I went into a suspicious warehouse alone while Henry was haring off down the street. The phrases "Cover me!", "I got your back!", and "Don't let him get away!" might have been involved. It was embarrassing.

First I was writing bad sci-fi in my head to explain Henry, and now it's second-rate crime drama. This is why I'm a cop and not a writer. Jo didn't push for more, but ever since then she's been giving me suspicious looks that I pretend not to notice, and I'm running out of Pepto Bismol.

* * *

 **TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

THURSDAY

Today is Thursday, and that brings us pretty much up to date. Henry acts all twitchy and nervous every time he notices Jo and I talking, like he's waiting to see if I'll blab when his back is turned. Which I haven't. It _is_ getting harder to avoid slipping up, but only because he keeps telling me more crap, so I've got more and more to hide.

Take this morning, for example. Jo and I are in the morgue to hear his findings on our latest victim, and Henry tells us the guy was strangled with piano wire. When Jo steps out to make a few calls to piano repair shops, I make the mistake of wondering out loud if we should be looking for a "smoking piano" that's missing a string or two.

He shakes his head and points to the vic's neck. "The tight spiral pattern of the ligature mark tells me that this was an unstretched bass string. It was never used in an instrument."

Feeling clever, I ask, "Why bass? Are sopranos not as deadly?"

He gets that spacey look in his eyes and says, "The higher strings are called treble, and in my experience, they can strangle a man just as easily."

"You see a lot of piano victims down here?" The question is out out my mouth before I remember: my New Reality Is Weirder. Henry looks almost apologetic when he clarifies, "Slightly more personal."

Why did I have to ask? Naturally, that's the moment when Jo finishes her phone call and comes back. I attempt to carry on a normal conversation, but two seconds ago Henry told me that he's been strangled to death by the treble string of a piano. I doubt I pulled off "normal."

We've been working together for what, nine months now? He ought to know by now that I'm not the cloak and dagger type. I don't enjoy secrets. And I don't know how much more of this I can take.

* * *

The boys are finally asleep, and Karen and I are settling in for the night when my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I pick up anyway. It's Henry.

"Detective? I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need your help." I repress my first reaction– extreme irritation– because even though having Henry Morgan's issues follow me home is _not_ what I wanted for my evening, he sounds strange, almost panicky.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

"I don't know where Abe is."

I frown into the phone. "Henry, your roommate is a grown man. Don't tell me you keep constant tabs on him."

"Of course not, but he always answers when I call his cell phone, and he's not answering."

Something occurs to me, and I look at the unfamiliar number on my screen. "Whose phone are you calling from?"

"I'm not sure." I hear muffled voices, then he's back. "An obliging gentleman by the name of Eddie." There's a pause, and he adds, "I believe he wants it back now. I'm by the East River, the place I told you about, and I could use a lift." He pauses again. "And a towel. Please, Detective, come quickly. I'm worried about Abe."

I knew it. I knew I would end up being his death cab. But what am I supposed to do, leave him there? "I'll be there in half an hour. Try not to get arrested."

* * *

I now have a damp immortal being in my passenger seat. A damp, frantic immortal being.

The first thing he says when he opens the door and slides in is, "Have you found Abe yet?" Never mind that he's naked, or that he apparently died tonight for reasons as yet unknown to me.

"No, I haven't even looked," I tell him. "I came straight here to keep your soggy English ass out of the drunk tank. You're welcome."

Henry doesn't so much as acknowledge that I'm doing him a massive favor, even as he's pulling on my second-favorite sweat suit. "Give me your phone. I need to try his number again."

I hand him my phone. "What's the matter, is he sick or something?" I can't think of any other reason for Henry to get so worked up over a few missed calls.

He shakes his head as he dials. "Not that I know of."

I keep pressing. "Has he been missing for over 24 hours? Were there signs of a struggle?"

"No, of course not." He's getting upset now. "But I need to find him!"

I'm starting to get upset, too. "Just leave the man alone!" Maybe it's not my place to say, but Henry made it my place by dragging me out of bed for this. "He's got his own life, and he doesn't need you calling to check on him every five minutes like you're his father!"

"I _AM_ his father!" he yells. I have never heard Henry yell before.

I'm still processing what he said when I hear a tinny voice answer the phone, which had still been ringing. "Abraham!" He almost shouts the name in relief before he reins in his emotions and continues. "Are you all right?" I can't hear the other half of the conversation, but whatever Abe says calms Henry down immediately. "I thought you had an extra charger in the car." Pause. Pause. "Well, never mind. I was just– yes, a little. Don't worry, I'm fine. I'll see you later."

He hangs up the phone and hands it back to me, and neither of us say anything for a minute. I can't tell what he's thinking. Me, I'm thinking that despite the fact that he just died, came back to life, dragged me out of bed and then jumped into my car naked, Henry actually makes sense to me tonight.

He's a father, and he was worried about his boy.

Apparently we're on the same wavelength (also a first), because he echoes my thought. "Abraham is my son." I don't interrupt, and he goes on. "Abigail– my late wife and I adopted him after the War. He's the only family I have left."

I think of my own little hellions, currently masquerading in their sleep as little angels. I send up a quick request to whoever's listening that I die at a ripe old age, but well before they do. I can't imagine what Henry–

"Come on, Doc. We both need to get home." I suddenly need to see my sons, and Henry needs to see his.

* * *

FRIDAY

It turns out that it wasn't the piano strangler that killed Henry last night, or anything else remotely sinister. He was jaywalking across a busy road, not paying attention, thinking about…whatever old English guys think about, and a semi flattened him.

We're sitting at the usual Eleventh Precinct happy hour table, waiting for Jo to join us, and I used the private moment to ask how he ended up bobbing in the river this time. I laugh in surprise at his answer, then shake my head. "So the side effect of eternal youth is that you go all careless and spacey?"

He shrugs with his eyebrows (that's a thing, right?), but he doesn't argue.

I've had something else on my mind today, and I finally say it. "You know, with everything that's been going on this week, I never thanked you for saving my life. Even if the dying part doesn't stick, you still took a bullet for me. Thanks, Doc. I owe you one."

He smiles and shakes his head. "You owe me nothing. My 'condition' feels like a curse more often than not, so I was happy to use it in service of a friend this time."

We don't talk for a minute, but it's not an awkward kind of silence. More like thoughtful. I'm the one to break it with some unsolicited advice. "You should tell her, Henry."

He nods. "I know. And I will. I want to. I just…I'm not sure how, exactly."

"You think too much," I say. "Just tell her." He nods again. It's obvious that he's thinking about how _not_ to think about it. I suppress a sigh and say, "It's not just about the… _immortal_ thing." I whisper the crazy part after a glance around. "I'm willing to bet that you're her best friend."

He smiles a little. "I can't speak for Jo, but she is certainly mine– aside from Abe, of course."

I thought so. "And deny it all you want, but there's a definite _something_ between you two. She ought to know the real you before it goes any further."

I half-expect him to deny the vibe yet again, but he just gives me this approving kind of smile and says, "Jo is lucky to have a friend like you."

I shrug it off. "What can I say? I'm a gem."

Henry laughs and lifts his glass. "Cheers to that."

I clink his fancy snifter with my pint glass. "Cheers."

"What are we celebrating?" Jo walks up just in time for the toast.

Henry stands, always the gentleman, and smiles at her. "The successes of the week."

She gives him that intrigued/amused/perplexed smile that only applies to him and points out, "We haven't solved the case yet."

"It's true that we don't have all the facts yet," he admits, "but we have more than we did a week ago. It's only a matter of time before you discover the whole truth." He manages to slip in a subtle nod to me, then he offers Jo a seat while he buys her first round.

 _Henry Morgan_ , _you can be one smooth sonfoabitch when you try_. I still kind of miss my blissful ignorance, but I'm glad he's on our side.

THE END

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! It's been fun living in Hanson's head for a while.**


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